


An Arthurian Christmas Carol

by The1stHarbinger



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ghosts, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Kissing, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The1stHarbinger/pseuds/The1stHarbinger
Summary: Merlin hasn’t wanted anything to do with Camelot for many years now. But this winter solstice brings with it a spirit that shows Merlin his self-enforced solitude can bring about nothing but more misery. Merlin must change his ways before all that can be is lost forever.





	An Arthurian Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> Written for WinterKnights 2017. Based off the prompt "Merthur Christmas Carol AU," although it isn't _exactly_ that.
> 
> Thanks so much to my beta, whom I will praise properly once authors are revealed, and thanks to the wonderful mods for all their hard work. I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Merlin perched on a stool near the window of his humble dwelling—which was more of a small hut, really—and let his temple rest gently against the cool glass (contrived with a rather clever application of magic). A delicate sheet of ice lined the sill, and beyond, winter had laid claim to the wood. Fresh snow powdered the leafy forest floor and tree boughs hunched beneath the weight of the ice. The lake had frozen over days ago, a black mirror that reflected a world gilded in silver by day and glimmering constellations of the heavens by night.

Today was apparently the Princess Igraine's sixteenth birthday if Percival was to be believed (and Merlin really had no reason not to believe him, he supposed), and would mark the beginning of the Yuletide festivals. It also meant that it had been some twenty years since the death of King Arthur—Merlin had stopped counting the passing years when the child had been born, and hadn't any real inclination to begin again now.

But perhaps this day was of some significance. Percival had not been to visit him since... well, as indicated, Merlin didn't regularly keep track of seasons past, but what he could say was that it had been a  _very_  long time. Probably. And if it was relevant enough to warrant a visit from Percival, then it was relevant enough for Merlin to pause in his relentless studies of magical tomes and ponder its apparent importance—if only briefly.

The visit had mostly pertained to the upcoming feast that would be held in the Princess's honor, but seeing as Merlin couldn't think of a single thing that he'd want to attend less, he'd had to regrettably deny the request. Percival had no doubt been unsurprised, if a little sad, as he'd long since given up trying to convince Merlin to come back to Camelot, his  _home._

Once, Merlin would have claimed that his home was where Arthur was. Now, he couldn't remember why he stayed here, other than he vaguely recognized that it was good to be consistent. It was hardly a proper reason to do anything, but alas his life here was stable, if a bit predictable, and he hadn't any desire to leave it.

In fact, he hadn't any desire to do much of anything. He wondered when that had happened, though suspected his lack of will arose not long after Arthur's death. But even then he'd wanted to cry and rage, had reason to get up in the morning and do something other than sit around and read and survive in only the most basic of manners. (He wondered when that reason had stopped being Arthur.)

Merlin allowed himself only a few moments' rumination, and then he stood up from his stool and padded to the hearth where a sedate fire flickered and wavered, its embers leaping and popping merrily. It was the only noise in the hut, but it had a calming effect on Merlin. He added the last remaining log to the fire and resolved to collect some more before a massive snowstorm inevitably hit and trapped him inside.

He first pulled on his boots—often, he liked to tread the wooden floorboards with only his warm, woolen socks—and then bundled up in a coat that was of much better quality than the one he'd owned back in Camelot and a scarf that was warmer but not entirely unlike the neckerchiefs he'd once worn.

Small flakes had begun falling lightly as Merlin trekked through the trees, the snow beneath his feet giving easily under his boots. The evening light struggled to shine through murky clouds, but its reflection off of pure white made it easy to see where he was going. Breath left him in visible puffs as he labored over uneven ground, gathering fallen branches and kindling fortuitously left sheltered from the snow.

The task wasn't without effort. He enjoyed the exertion of his limbs, though, the way it made his muscles stretch. After so many years of having magic, he could've easily collected more wood without having to even step foot outside the comforts of his abode—in fact, he needn't have had a fire at all—and yet in these small ways he felt closer to humanity, even though he wasn't. Human, that was. That fact had been made clear to him in the Crystal Cave trying to recover his magic, all those many years ago.

His father's words rang in his ears as they often did when his thoughts went left unchecked for too long...  _Merlin, you are more than a son of your father. You are the son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of this world, and you were born of that magic. You are magic itself. You cannot lose what you are._

Funny that he had ample space to practice magic—more than he'd ever had in Camelot—and more than the means to do it, and still he preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, the way men had done for centuries before him. Perhaps it was true that he  _was_  magic personified (a thought he actively endeavored  _not_ to pursue), and perhaps it was something of an impossibility to lose that. But, he had to admit to himself, maybe it was not such an absurdity to forget it sometimes.

Still, his mostly unchanged appearance was a constant reminder that he was not like other people. Reasonably, he  _should_ look two decades older than he did when he was last at Arthur's side. But while his experiences had aged him mentally, physically he looked much the same as he did when he'd sent Arthur's body inside a boat into the depths of Avalon. His hair may have been a bit longer and his clothes a bit nicer, but anyone who knew him long enough could tell there was something different about him, something unnatural.

Once satisfied with his collection, Merlin turned to follow his boot prints back the way he'd come. Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. Weak moonlight was streaming through the breaks between branches, and it seemed more time had passed than he'd imagined while he'd been lost in thought. His eyesight had not yet adjusted to the dark, and he wondered if he was just seeing things. He shuffled two steps forward, but paused at a noise from behind. Oddly, it stopped when he did. Merlin shook his head, as if trying to clear it—the sound had been extremely soft, and it could very well be that he was just beginning to lose his mind. He took another step forward, and there the sound was again. Whooshing, like a cloak trailing in the snow. But he wasn't wearing a cloak.

Merlin whirled around, magic pooling at his fingertips preparing for whatever he commanded of it. But instead of going on the defensive, he yelped and stumbled over his feet in his haste to back away, tripping and falling to the cold snow-covered ground, the branches and kindling spilling from his arms. The noise echoed around the clearing, giving an even eerier edge to the man (apparition?) in front of him.

Arthur looked down on him, his lip curled up in such a familiar expression of amusement that a flare of pain constricted Merlin's chest. And this  _was_  Arthur, as apparent as he was before the Battle of Camlann, if a little paler than Merlin remembered him. He was resplendent in gleaming armor and his crimson cloak, his hair shining impossibly bright.

Merlin couldn't help but think,  _No. Not possible._

He scrambled to his feet, irrationally horrified, and took off back the way he'd come, toward his hut, not sparing a second thought for the gathered firewood gone to waste.

"Merlin!" the apparition called (and wonderful, apparently it could talk as well).

 _Not real, not real, not real,_ Merlin chanted inside his head.  _It wasn't. It_ couldn't  _be._

Merlin worked his legs faster than he had for ages, probably since he was still just a manservant, running away from any number of terrible beasts or bandits or vengeful spirits because Arthur drew trouble like a moth to a flame.

His thighs burned when he finally caught sight of his hut, situated in a clearing where moonlight graciously poured in. With a wave of his hand the door flew open, and he raced inside before slamming it shut again. It seared his lungs to breathe, sweat cooling rapidly on his forehead and the nape of his neck, and he shivered violently. He glanced at the hearth and, sure enough, the fire there had long since burned out.

Minutes passed in an odd serenity, like the calm before a storm, but as nothing out of the ordinary happened after a long, seemingly interminable instance, Merlin began to wonder if he really  _had_ been imagining things.

Insistent, bumptious knocking nearly made Merlin choke on his heart, which now seemed to be lodged in his throat. "Merlin! I  _know_ you can hear me; otherwise you wouldn't have run away like a startled doe. Let me in, or I'll let myself in."

Merlin shook like a leaf where he stood in the center of his small hut. He hadn't experienced this much turmoil since Arthur's death, having felt lost and out of place in a world without his King. In later years, he'd entered a state of welcomed apathy, and now he no longer knew how to handle the fervor of his emotions.

Not liking his options, Merlin dove behind the table he'd made with his own two hands and stilled his shaking to the best of his abilities, barely letting breath through his nose. He didn't know what he hoped to accomplish by hiding, but the very thought of going near that door terrified him.

There was a distinct shuffling from outside, and then, "All right, that's it. Remember that I did warn you, Merlin."

Merlin craned his neck to see past the modest piece of furniture he hid behind, preparing himself for the aggressive entrance that was sure to come. Instead, Merlin watched in open-mouthed shock as Arthur strode  _through_ the door, like it wasn't even there, and immediately made his way to where Merlin knelt. He looked down on Merlin in mocking contempt, his stunning blue eyes flashing with the only indication of his mirth.

Merlin gulped hard, eyes unblinking.

Arthur smirked. "Ah, good. So you  _can_ see me."

"I—" Merlin stuttered, struck dumb.

Arthur's eyebrow rose in a familiar expression of derision. "Perhaps, then, you can tell me what the hell I'm doing here."

❄

"You're dead."

Merlin and Arthur sat across from each other at the table, the cramped little thing barely fitting the two rickety chairs Merlin had constructed of old oak. He'd been half convinced Arthur would go right through the wood, but Arthur sat with ease. The chair even groaned under his weight, which at another time would've made Merlin grin and comment something snide.

"Very good, Merlin. Did you get that by my walking through solid objects, or was it my pale complexion that gave it away?"

"No, I mean— I just..." Merlin paused and took a deep breath. He felt jittery, and he had a strong urge to crawl under the blankets on his bed and cry until he fell asleep. Mostly, though, he just wanted to hug Arthur, not caring whether Arthur was really there or if his mind was just playing cruel tricks on him.

But Merlin didn't dare touch him, lest the illusion broke and left him cold and alone in the middle of the woods without a fire to keep him warm or friends to keep him company.

"You... know?"

Arthur didn't even pretend not to know what Merlin was referring to. "That I'm dead?" He nodded to himself, his gaze shifting to the tabletop. "I can remember... you. The clearing. The pain in my side. I remember darkness and a woman's voice, though I don't recall what she said." Arthur cleared his throat roughly. "It was... peaceful, I guess. But also strange, like I was everything at once and at the same time nothing at all. It isn't a sensation I'd recommend." He glanced up with a slight grin that didn't come close to reaching his eyes.

Merlin stared blankly, unable to fathom Arthur's words. He mentally grappled with the pain and grief they brought him, trying to overcome their threat of overwhelming him entirely.

"But then it went away," Arthur continued when it became clear Merlin wasn't going to say anything, "and now I'm here." A scowl twisted his features. "Would you stop looking at me like that?" he demanded abruptly.

Merlin blinked and sat up straighter in his chair. "Sorry," he mumbled, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. He didn't know if he should be glad Arthur behaved in exactly the way Merlin remembered him, or... He didn't really know. All he knew was their last few days together had consisted of many painful memories for Merlin, and Arthur acted as if it hadn't even happened at all.

Arthur was glaring at him, but Merlin could tell it was half-hearted at best. "By the look on your face, I suppose it's safe to assume you haven't any idea what I'm doing here, either."

Merlin grimaced, shaking his head. Kilgharrah's words played in his mind, but he pushed them away. He'd been sure that the dragon had meant decades, centuries even into the future. So why was Arthur here  _now_?

It made him even more wary that this— _whatever it was_ —was not, in fact, Arthur. Oh, but it looked so much like him and acted in a way that was so very  _Arthur._ Merlin  _wanted_ it to be him.

Arthur startled him by swiftly pushing his chair back from the table and gracefully getting to his feet, striding to the door without another word.

Merlin scrambled to keep up with him. "Wha— Where are you going?"

"To find answers,  _Mer_ lin, obviously."

"Wait! Arthur, just— wait. Please."

Arthur's sigh was long-suffering as he turned back around to face Merlin. He gave him a look that clearly indicated Merlin should get on with it.

Something of Merlin's distress and uncertainty must have registered on his face, because the tense lines of Arthur's face smoothed out and gentled. It was the look in his eyes that gave away his own disquiet. Merlin realized that Arthur wasn't at all as unaffected as he was trying to pretend to be. He was putting up a front of how he'd normally react in disconcerting situations to cover his unease.

Arthur took a step forward, and Merlin had to fight the urge to step back, farther away. Arthur's voice, low and gravelly, startled Merlin as it broke the silence. "How long has it been, Merlin?"

Merlin turned his head away. He hated to think about the answer to that question. Instead, he stared out the window unseeingly, then searched the floorboards beneath his feet as if they held the answers to all his troubles. Anything to get out from under that penetrating gaze.

"Merlin."

Merlin's face screwed up in anger, masking his despair, his yearning.  _Long enough!_ he wanted to scream.  _What does it matter?_ Time didn't mean anything, not to Merlin. He was forever stuck, forced to stay as he was while the rest of the world moved on around him. Life was an infinite cycle, and somewhere along the way Merlin had been pushed out of the loop.

But he still didn't say anything, not even as Arthur moved closer. Merlin knew he should back away; he knew he shouldn't let him too close. But Arthur was looking at him, really  _looking_ , his gaze piercing right through Merlin, and Merlin thought that maybe he was starting to understand.

Merlin curled into himself, one last feeble attempt to keep Arthur away. Of course he knew it never would have worked.

Arthur's fingers reached for him. The last thing he remembered was a chilled but gentle touch to the inside of his wrist.

 

**Past**

Merlin's eyes flew open. He was left feeling as he normally did when he was arbitrarily jerked awake in the middle of the night, the cause fleeing his mind before he could fully grasp its meaning.

A groan slipped past his lips as he tried to maneuver his body. Something was digging into the small of his back.

When had he ended up on the floor?

"Merlin?"

Merlin tilted his head and found Arthur kneeling beside him. His hands were hovering over his torso, not quite touching.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked.

Merlin blinked hard, trying to erase the blurriness from his vision. What the hell had happened?

"Arthur?" he rasped, pushing up onto his elbows.

Arthur huffed a breath and neatly pushed himself to his feet. "I can see you haven't become entirely useless, then," he drawled. "You fainted when I touched you. You must have done something that brought us here." He gestured vaguely with his hands, looking moderately uncomfortable.

Merlin scanned their new surroundings, sucking in a sharp breath as he did so. He belatedly realized that Arthur must have been referring to his magic.

"Isn't this your home in Ealdor?"

Hesitantly pushing himself to his feet, Merlin dubiously inspected the small cottage they'd miraculously landed themselves in. It  _was_ his home in Ealdor, as he remembered it when he was a little boy.

But...

Merlin's eyes lighted on a clay pot. It had been made by his father, Hunith had told him (one of the few things she'd ever said about Balinor), and she'd been very fond of it. Unfortunately, clumsy as Merlin tended to be, he'd knocked it over mere days before leaving for Camelot. He'd thought his mother had kept the shattered pieces in a basket under her bed, with her other few personal collectibles.

He continued his appraisal, doing a very poor job of ignoring the lump growing in his throat. An open hearth, pitiful slabs of wood thrown together in what were supposed to be two tiny chairs and a table, a single mattress he and his mother shared when he was young, and not much else.

"How is this possible?" Merlin breathed, mostly to himself.

Arthur gave him a look that clearly said,  _You're asking me?_

The door to the cottage swung open then, saving Merlin from having to respond. When he saw who had entered, he was rendered a shaking mess for the second time that day.

Hunith appeared younger than Merlin could ever remember her being, her face flushed a healthy pink and her brown eyes sparkling contentedly. She hummed a merry tune, grinning as she cleared off the tabletop. The scarf she wore had been her favorite out of the meagre pieces of clothing she had owned. She'd only ever worn it in the winter when it was especially needed, not wanting to wear it out too quickly.

"Mum?" Merlin said, surprised at his own voice.

But Merlin's mother gave no indication that she could hear him.

"Hunith?" Arthur tried. He moved to stand in front of her, but Hunith passed right through him while setting about preparing a meal.

Merlin shook his head, swallowing thickly. "She can't hear us," he croaked. He had a feeling that he was beginning to understand what all of this was.

His theory was confirmed by a small, sobbing figure rushing inside the cottage, slamming the door shut carelessly behind him.

Merlin's stomach dropped. Yes. He remembered this.

"Mummy!" a younger version of Merlin cried pathetically, stumbling to a graceless halt before Hunith.

Merlin winced.

"What is it, cariad?" Hunith asked, setting down a cloth. She knelt down to Younger Merlin's height and tenderly grasped the hands he was holding out to her. Merlin watched as her lips pursed with concern and something else, something he'd never noticed as a child. "Oh, my dear. What happened to you?"

Younger Merlin was by this point blubbering miserably, though he put up a visible effort to calm his hurt. He was bundled up comically in an over-large coat with sleeves that completely swallowed his hands and a thick, wool scarf that covered half his face, including his ridiculous ears.

Merlin thought vaguely that maybe he should've been grateful Arthur hadn't made any comments yet, teasing or otherwise.

"Thoumas— " Younger Merlin hiccoughed pitifully, using the sleeve of his coat to wipe at the tears and snot covering his face. "Thoumas and Tristian knocked over my castle," he said. Merlin saw his lower lip tremble and almost felt sorry for him.

"Your snow castle?" Hunith asked kindly. When Younger Merlin nodded, she tsked. "I'm so sorry, love."

"They called me freak," Younger Merlin blurted, eyes widening and more tears gathering in the corners. "And they pushed me!"

He held up his tiny, chubby hands again as if to validate the statement. His hands  _were_ reddened, marked with miniscule scrapes and cuts that hardly seemed worth noticing to adult Merlin but clearly pained this smaller version of himself.

"Shh, darling," Hunith hushed him. "You're not a freak. I'm your mother, I know these things." She grinned and stood up, gently sitting him beside the open hearth to warm him.

She left the cottage momentarily, coming back with a chunk of snow in hand. She instructed Younger Merlin to press it against his hands, then went about washing him and changing him into warmer attire. Hunith then laid the boy on the mattress where his eyelids drooped sleepily. When Younger Merlin's head hit the pillow, he'd already fallen asleep.

Merlin watched Hunith stroke Younger Merlin's hair. Sometimes her fingers would catch in a knot, and she'd nimbly untangle it before continuing her soft caress. Eventually, she stopped to place a kiss on Younger Merlin's temple. Then she was striding out of the cottage with a determined look on her face, leaving Merlin and Arthur in an uncomfortable silence as she did so.

When Merlin finally let himself glance at Arthur, he saw him staring at the sleeping Merlin with a stricken expression. Which, of bloody  _course._ Guilt weighed heavy in Merlin's belly as he thought about what it might be like for Arthur, to be witness to such a maternal act when he would never experience it for himself.

When Merlin had let it go completely to waste.

Arthur cleared his throat and met Merlin's eyes, his own piercing. "So... what was that?"

Merlin shrugged helplessly, feeling more than a bit miserable himself. "A memory?" he said, but he didn't sound so sure. He couldn't have remembered Hunith leaving, and he certainly couldn't know what she'd looked like while doing so.

But Arthur didn't question him.

His next query caught Merlin off guard. "Have... Have you been to see her?"

A wave of grief struck Merlin, sudden in its force. He'd only ever felt such guilt and regret one other time after Arthur's death, a brief spike of emotion that he'd vehemently pushed away almost immediately, and that was after his mother's passing.

He allowed tears to pool in his eyes but refused to let them spill over. "No," he admitted out loud what he hadn't admitted to himself in over five years (at the least). "But I should have."

Arthur stared at him quizzically, but then his eyes widened in realization. "Christ, Merlin— I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault," Merlin said.

And it wasn't. Arthur's death might have instigated Merlin's disinclined attitude towards living, but it was by Merlin's entirely own doing that he'd let himself become secluded, isolated from all his remaining friends and family—the people who loved and cared for him most, and who just wanted to help him.  _He_ was the one who pushed them away.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice, low and warm, was closer than Merlin was expecting, and he looked up to find the apparition standing right in front of him. Their chests were only inches apart. "Please." Arthur asked for the second time, "How long has it been?"

Merlin bit his lip. But Arthur's eyes shone genuinely, and they were so kind and affectionate, Merlin thought he would weep. He'd never seen Arthur like this before, and it made him feel like he could tell Arthur anything. Trust him not to let him suffer alone anymore.

"A long time," he said finally. He didn't elaborate. He didn't think he needed to.

He was more prepared for Arthur's touch this time; a step closer, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Then darkness.

❄

"Merlin? Can you hear me?"

Nauseating vertigo filled Merlin's head, but he managed to open his eyes. When he saw blue eyes staring back at him, some of the dizziness cleared from his head. He sat up, slow and careful, and took in his surroundings.

These were Arthur's chambers. He hadn't been inside them for more than twenty years.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice interrupted his scrutinization of the room. By the impatience laced through his tone, Merlin could only surmise it wasn't the first time Arthur had called his name.

Merlin found Arthur's gaze again. "What?" he asked, trying not to sound too distracted.

"It happens when I touch you," Arthur said, his words frank as if this was something obvious that Merlin should understand without context or clue. Merlin's puzzlement must have shown on his face, because Arthur huffed dramatically and said, "I've only touched you twice, and both times this has happened. We're brought different places."

Merlin's brow furrowed. "Different places? Or different times?"

"Both?" Arthur suggested, gaining his feet. Merlin followed suit.

"But, why?" Merlin asked rhetorically. It was fairly apparent that Arthur knew about as much in regards to their situation as he did. "Why is this happening? What's doing this?"

Arthur didn't bother responding, as the door to his (old) chambers opened a moment later, a drunken Prince Arthur and a slightly less intoxicated Merlin stumbling inside.

"Merlin, light a fire, would you?" the other Arthur slurred, a broad grin contorting his face as the other Merlin half-carried him to the bed on the other side of the room. Their staggering dawdle was shameful to watch.

Merlin plopped the prince on the bed unceremoniously and obliged him with little defiance while Arthur pulled uselessly at the clasps on his cloak. A flowered bracelet adorned his left wrist, daisies linked together in a beautiful white and yellow band.

Suddenly, Merlin knew where they were. Or, more precisely,  _when_  they were.

A feast had been held this night in celebration of the winter solstice, and a visiting lord and his daughter had attended the gathering. The sweet little girl, who had not been older than seven years of age, had bestowed Arthur with the wristlet which Arthur had sported proudly the rest of the (long) evening. Arthur, and thereby Merlin, had stayed up late into the longest night of the year, enjoying many a cup of the finest wine Camelot's stores had to offer. It'd been a happy occasion, one of the last before the invasion of Morgause's immortal army and Morgana's subsequent betrayal.

_Gods, please no. Not this. Anything but this._

Merlin remembered this night only too well, and he did  _not_ want Arthur—or any version of him—to see how it had played out.

"Arthur, we should leave," he said beseechingly. He turned to insist they go elsewhere, but Arthur was no longer beside him. Merlin did a ridiculous turnabout before he found Arthur near the hearth, watching the other Merlin.

Merlin hurried over to him, pausing just a step behind. The other Merlin was adjusting the wood in the fireplace, wiping his fingers on his trousers when it was settled to his satisfaction. Merlin flinched at the negligent flick of Other Merlin's wrist towards the hearth, where flickering flames sprang forth. Christ, he hadn't even been holding a flint! Had he really been so reckless with his magic during his time in Camelot?

He glanced cautiously at Arthur, the one standing inches from him, but Arthur's countenance shone only with restrained delight and a patent curiosity.

The expression sent an unexpected thrill through Merlin, but he shoved it away harshly. Now wasn't the time to get excited over Arthur possibly taking an interest in his magic. Now was the time to  _get the hell out of there_.

"Arthur," Merlin implored.

Arthur hummed his acknowledgement, but that didn't stop him from following the other Merlin back to the bed where the other Arthur was still trying, ineptly, to remove his cloak. Merlin followed him, helpless.

The other Merlin tutted at the prince and batted his hands away, unclasping the fastenings himself and carrying the cloak back to its place in the armoire. Both Merlin and Arthur watched him as he went back to the other Arthur, knelt in front of him and started to unbuckle his boots. The prince himself stared blankly out in front of him, a sheen glazed over unfocused eyes. He blinked as Merlin stood up and plucked the golden circlet from his head, placing it on the nightstand near his bedside.

Merlin scurried about the room, tidying up and leaving the task of undressing to the prince. It was long minutes before he finally finished his fretting, and by then the prince was pressed up against his pillows, snoring softly into the silk. The daisy bracelet still adorned his wrist.

In anguished resignation, Merlin backed away from the bed and from Arthur. The apparition didn't seem to notice, or care, too wrapped up in the other Merlin's doings.

Finally, when Merlin thought he would burst from his apprehension, his other self slowly walked up next to the bed. His gaze was fond as he reached out, running his fingers through blond hair. He seemed relaxed and patently tipsy when he bent down to press a light kiss to the other Arthur's forehead.

Merlin didn't dare look at Arthur. He watched, his body taut as a bowstring, as the other him paused in his ministrations and got a curious look on his face. He couldn't breathe as Other Merlin stooped down again, a series of distraught  _no_ 's ricocheting in his ears. Disgust threatened in the core of his belly, but it didn't stop the other Merlin from planting a hand on the prince's chest. It didn't stop him from pressing his lips to Arthur's.

It was brief, barely more than a peck, but it had caused Merlin such guilt and anguish for weeks afterward. To take advantage of Arthur in such a way, to use him like that while he was  _asleep_ , had left Merlin unable to look Arthur in the eye for at least the next few months. Their interactions had turned stilted and, more often than not, uncomfortable.

And now Arthur knew why.

Merlin recoiled at Arthur's sharp intake of breath. Oh Gods,  _why?_

"Merlin." Now ignoring Merlin's other self, Arthur turned around, lookedat  _him_. Merlin couldn't decipher his expression.

He suddenly couldn't bear it, couldn't bear Arthur's gaze or his nearing proximity. He folded into himself, backed up as far as he could go until his spine met stone. Then he curled into himself even further.  _No. No. Go away..._

"Merlin, stop," Arthur commanded, but since when did Merlin ever listen to his orders?

His heart was battering at his ribs, his face was flushed with humiliation, and all Merlin wanted was for whatever force that had suddenly overtaken his life to do so again, to take him away—take him anywhere but here.

"Merlin,  _look_ at me." The sheer authority in Arthur's demand engendered Merlin's acquiescence. Once he knew he had Merlin's attention, Arthur continued, soft, "It's all right. Merlin, I— "

Merlin didn't let him finish— _couldn't_ let him finish. "No!" he cried, desperate. "Shut up! I'm sorry, I don't— "

He made to push Arthur away, but he didn't get any further than a brief graze to Arthur's broad chest.

 

**Present**

Merlin was still backed up against a wall when he opened his eyes again. A quick perusal of his surroundings told him he was in one of the castle's corridors, outside a set of chambers. He couldn't recall which one.

Arthur stood beside him, so close their arms were almost brushing. Merlin immediately moved away, trying to calm the racing of his heart. Arthur's eyes flashed with disappointment and something else—something Merlin couldn't quite pinpoint. But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone again, and Merlin barely had time to open his mouth before he heard the echo of footsteps coming from an adjacent corridor to their left.

He held his breath.

It was Percival who rounded the corner, cloak trailing behind him and sword swinging at his side to the rhythm of his steps. He looked much the same as he did when he'd visited Merlin, specks of gray scattered through his hair, wearied wrinkles lining his eyes. He still moved with the bearing of a knight of Camelot, though, his posture confident and his steps sure.

Something tickled at the back of his brain. "Wait... I haven't been back to Camelot for years."

"So?" Arthur asked, his voice conveying no emotion. Well, no emotion Merlin understood, anyway.

"So why does  _he_ ," Merlin gestured to the man drawing nearer, "look the same as he did when he visited me a couple days ago? How could I remember this?"

Arthur shook his head, his lips pursed. "Perhaps you're not."

"So this...  _isn't_ a memory?"

"Maybe it never was," Arthur said mysteriously. He didn't look at Merlin as Percival paused in front of the doors to the chambers, knocking quietly but firmly on the wood.

A handmaid pulled the door open after only a few moments, nodding Percival inside with a welcoming smile. Arthur and Merlin slinked inside behind him just as the handmaid slipped out.

The quarters resembled Arthur's, discernibly fit for royalty. They had clearly been personalised by a lady's touch. Despite how large they actually were, they intimated a pleasant coziness by the fire dancing genially in the hearth that emitted a low, warm glow into the center of the chambers and casted the outer edges in shadow.

Guinevere and Leon sat at a table in the middle of the chambers, each grasping a goblet of some (probably fermented) liquid or other. They both smiled at Percival welcomingly, and Gwen waved him in, gesturing him to a chair on her left.

"Please do come in, Percival," Gwen said affably. She had more wrinkles lining her face than Merlin remembered from her youth, growing more pronounced with her lovely smile, and gray streaked her hair in places. Merlin thought she was still as beautiful as ever.

Leon too looked older, of course he did, but age hadn't hindered him any.

These were the people who he hadn't seen in so many years, the friends he'd all but forgotten. He had come back to this city, been inside these castle walls only once after Arthur's death—and it had been awful. Gaius' passing was one he recalled guiltily, for he had not even been there to tell his old mentor his goodbyes, to let him know how much he'd meant to Merlin. Worse was how empty he'd been at the funeral pyre, as the grief he'd felt could not even compare to the loss of Arthur.

He shook himself of these thoughts when Percival sat down in the chair Gwen had offered, loosening his cloak. When he'd situated himself, Gwen asked, "How is Igraine?"

Percival smiled affectionately. "She sleeps peacefully, my lady."

"I'm glad. We appreciate your looking after her." Her hand found Leon's on the table, squeezing his leather-gloved fingers. Merlin was taken aback by the gesture, although he wasn't sure why. Percival had told him about how the Queen had found comfort in her first knight after so much had been lost. How else would the Princess have been conceived? Merlin had been unable to procure an opinion on the matter then, and now it seemed that he'd omitted the union from his mind almost entirely.

He couldn't help glancing at Arthur, but was flummoxed to find him indifferent. He didn't look at all surprised, and Merlin didn't know how he should feel about that.

"It is the least I can do, Your Majesty." Percival bowed his head in deference.

Gwen patted his hand. "Enough with the formalities now, Percival. It's only the three of us this evening."

"And some wine," Leon added, holding up a jug with a grin. The three of them laughed while Leon poured Percival a generous serving, looking genuinely at ease, even happy with their situation.

It seemed they'd done what Merlin had thought impossible... Moved on.

"What are we discussing?" Percival asked after he'd gulped down half his goblet, wiping any residual liquid from his lips with the back of his wrist.

"No discussion, Percival, just reminiscence."

"Yes," Gwen beamed. "You hadn't yet come to Camelot, Percival, so you wouldn't remember, but we were just recalling the time we'd gone to save Ealdor from pillagers." Gwen cocked her head at Leon. "Though I guess you hadn't been there."

"I was certainly there for the aftermath," Leon protested. "King Uther had not been impressed with Arthur."

Gwen's laughter was rich, her tone filled with unmitigated amusement as she said, "I thought Arthur would drown in the amount of spittle that flew from Uther's lips."

Percival was smiling in bemusement. "Ealdor you say?"

"Mmm." Gwen swallowed her sip of wine before continuing. "Merlin's village. It's on the border of Essetir. His mother came to plead for Camelot's assistance against the filthy warlord Kanen and his men, but Uther decided it constituted too much risk to cross the border. Not that that stopped us." Gwen smirked slyly.

She didn't seem to be conflicted about the memory even though two of the people she'd fought beside that day were gone now and the other was a stubborn recluse. Merlin had to commend her for that.

"And Arthur went?" Percival asked with a galling surprise. Merlin peered at Arthur again, but he still appeared unmoved. "But why? You said Ealdor resides in Essetir."

"Merlin, of course," Gwen said with absolute conviction. "You know how very fond of him Arthur was. Even then."

"It was always Merlin, with him." Leon shook his head, his grin nostalgic as his fringe fell across his face. He pushed the offending strands back behind his ear.

"It's true, you know." Arthur's voice was so low and unexpected, Merlin had to replay the words in his mind a couple times before he could really make sense of them. When he did, he turned to find Arthur looking at him intently. He blinked against the sudden prickling of tears, unprepared for the assault of emotion the words had evoked in him.

Merlin couldn't speak, and the trio had lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few moments before Gwen spoke again. "Did Merlin say why he couldn't make it tonight?"

"It's always the same excuse," Percival said, his expression turning somber. "He can't. He's too busy." He stared blankly at his empty goblet. "He always forgets to tell me what he's too busy doing."

A single tear trickled down Merlin's cheek when he heard the hint of self-deprecation in Percival's tone. He'd never realized how much his detachment had upset the other man. He'd never realized how much Percival seemed to care about him at all. The thought was oddly humbling.

"Maybe next year," Leon said, quiet.

"Right." Gwen cleared her throat, managing a cheery countenance that wasn't completely false. She lifted her goblet and declared, "To next year."

Leon and Percival echoed her, clinking their cups together. "To next year."

An urgent knocking at the door interrupted their proclamation, and a page entered at Gwen's summons. The boy was young, out of breath, and conspicuously frightened, though he tried to keep his face neutral. They all grew serious at his obvious distress.

"What is it, Daryl?" Gwen demanded rigidly, but not unkindly.

"It's the Saxons, Your Majesty," the boy—Daryl—blurted. "We've estimated ten-thousand men have amassed in the east, in Lot's kingdom. We think Lot has formed an alliance with them." He paused, his eyes widening. "They march towards Camelot."

At that, Gwen, Leon, and Percival all stood up. "Gather the council," Gwen said to Leon. Leon nodded and strode briskly from the chambers, calling the page to him, his role as consort and first knight seemlessly replacing the relaxed and carefree man of only moments before.

"We are outnumbered," Gwen said bluntly into the resounding silence. "There is not enough time to accumulate enough men, even with our accords with the other kingdoms."

"My lady, if I may..." Percival offered, waiting for her assent.

"Speak freely Sir Percival, please."

"Let me go to Merlin and entreat him for his aid. You saw what he did at Camlann as well as I. He could prove to be a formidable asset."

"He has resisted us for years, Percival," Gwen said reasonably enough, but her eyes glowed with a new hope. "What makes you think he'll come to us now, even if we appeal to him? You might be better suited preparing the troops."

Merlin was saddened to hear that Gwen thought he would be reluctant to help them, especially considering their newfound predicament. But he supposed he had never given any of them reason to expect otherwise. Merlin was remorseful to realize that he himself didn't know what he'd have said if they'd come to him before.

"I don't think he would abandon us if he knew our plight, Gwen," Percival countered, deliberately leaving off her title. "I must at least try. He may be our only hope."

Gwen searched his face. She evidently found what she was looking for, because she smiled and nodded. "Do what you have to."

Percival concurred and left the chambers in much the same fashion as Leon, as if he was on a mission. Merlin admitted that he kind of was.

Gwen was the last to trail out, a few minutes later, and her head was held high when the door closed behind her.

Merlin finally let his misery overwhelm him. "Gods, I'm so sorry, Arthur," he lamented, sure of Arthur's disappointment in him. Arthur would have expected him to protect his kingdom and his people at all costs, and Merlin had failed him by leaving them to fend for themselves for so many years. He had been selfish. Arthur could never forgive him for that. And yet Merlin sought his forgiveness anyway. When he bowed his head, tears flowed freely in rivulets down his cheeks.

"Merlin."

Merlin lifted his head, positive he had misheard the tender way in which his name had left Arthur's lips. But when Arthur looked at him, the same tenderness shone in his eyes. He looked concerned, and his own grief was barely kept at bay.

"This isn't your fault," he said simply.

Merlin was confounded. Of course it was his fault. Maybe not the Saxons, but the way his friends felt about him, the way Gwen had been so unsure of his willingness to help—that was his fault. Any grievances they'd experienced because he hadn't been there to assist them were his fault.

He shook his head emphatically, biting back his sobs, and rubbed irritably at the wetness on his face with the sleeve of his jacket, just as his younger self had done. How could he ever make this right?

"Merlin, listen to me. Please." Arthur moved as close as he could without actually touching him, clearly cognizant of the fact that they couldn't touch without being thrown into another place and time. "Do you trust me?"

Merlin was shocked into staring at Arthur incredulously, wounded that Arthur even had to ask. "You know I do."

"Then trust me when I tell you it's alright," Arthur said. "This, everything—it'll be alright. I promise." The certainty with which Arthur said the words caused Merlin to unwittingly relax. Gods help him, Merlin believed him.

He snuffled, nodding because words escaped him. For a moment he let himself lose himself in Arthur, in his eyes that were so distinctly  _loving._ Arthur completely stole his breath away; this Merlin had never forgot. Could never forget.

"I never wanted this for you," Arthur continued, his tone a gentle resonance. "I never wanted you to be alone."

Merlin felt the tears well up again. "I know, Arthur. I do."  _It was my own doing_ , he didn't say.

"I told you once that I never wanted you to change, and I meant it." Arthur's eyes were suddenly wide and earnest, almost desperate. "I want you to always be you, Merlin. Promise me that. I need you— I need to know..." Now Arthur's eyes were gleaming suspiciously as he choked up. Merlin had the uncanny impression that he knew more than he was letting on.

But he couldn't let himself think about that now, not when Arthur was looking at him in that way. Arthur needed this from him, and he could never deny Arthur anything. "I promise. I promise. Arthur..."

There was a moment of utter euphoria when Arthur's lips met his, a flash of sheer bliss that was purely Arthur. In just one moment, Arthur filled every part of him, sated every missing piece.

In the next, Merlin was the emptiest he'd ever been.

 

**Future**

Merlin opened his eyes to complete darkness. For a moment he felt consigned to oblivion, like he was drifting in a boundless cavern, unable to move, to speak, condemned to his own thoughts for an eternity with nothing he could do about it.

But then his feet connected with solid ground and everything settled around him.

"Arthur?" he called out, hesitant.

The ringing silence that met him sent him into a near panic.

"Arthur?" he said again, louder this time. When no answer was forthcoming, he shouted desperately, "Arthur, where are you? Come back! I have so much still to tell you!"

He reeled around, feet heavy and ungainly. He blundered over an invisible protuberance, tripping clumsily to the floor. He landed hard on his bum.

Merlin then noticed an unassuming radiance emitting from a sort of box that was right in front of his face. He was nonplussed by the images he saw there, crowds of tiny people milling about completely oblivious to the fact that they were trapped in some kind of contraption. He was immediately reminded of the Crystal of Neahtid, of all the crystals in the Crystal Cave that had showed him things he'd never wanted to see, futures that'd inevitably came to pass.

He scrambled away from the box, instantly wary of it, and got back to his feet. When he glanced around again, he was no longer encompassed by darkness.

The room he was in was completely unrecognizable. It was cramped, not in a comfortable way, and Merlin was confused by some of the objects littering the room while others, like Arthur's mother's sigil and the carved dragon given to him by his father, he was intimately familiar with.

The lump on a chair in front of the glowing box shifted, drawing Merlin's eye, and Merlin realized that an old man was lying there, swathed in blankets. He stared impassively into the glow emanating from the box, and Merlin wondered blandly if he'd been ensnared by the images.

Upon closer inspection, Merlin saw that he recognized the man. He looked like... well, he looked like  _him,_  when he'd pretended to be Dragoon.

He suddenly knew with absolute certainty that this  _was_ him. Or would be him, years from now.

This was his future.

 _"... after several reports, it has been confirmed that HRH Prince Arthur Pendragon of Wales proposed to Sophia Aeval last night at the_ — _"_

Merlin spun back around to face the glowing box, baffled by the words. Where was that voice coming from? An unmoving image of Arthur in unusual attire appeared, a woman with astounding resemblance to Sophia of the Sidhe hanging off his arm with a coy smirk.

_Proposed?_

"No," Merlin breathed. "No, no, no. This can't happen." Merlin rounded on the good-for-nothing dollophead still staring at the box, completely unaffected. "Don't just  _lie_ there, you stupid old bastard!" Merlin screamed at him, angry and distressed by what he was seeing. " _Do something!_ "

But the old man didn't so much as twitch.

Merlin cried out, a hideous sound, falling back in front of the box where the strange voice was still speaking impossible words. His despair poured out in a violent rage as he first gripped at his hair, pulling furiously at the strands, then dug his fingers into his knees, the fabric of his trousers bunching up. "No! This  _can't_ happen."

Merlin slumped down then, his anger leaving him as suddenly as it had come. "I won't let it," he vowed. His voice was no more than a whisper, but it held as much power as a spell on his tongue.

He rested his temple on the cool surface of the box and resigned himself to whatever happened next.

_Merlin..._

❄

"Merlin!"

A loud pounding resounded in his head. He groaned at the migraine it elicited, realizing someone was knocking on his door. Quite frankly, he was getting tired of all the knocking.

He was sprawled on his stomach in the center of his hut, disorientated. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, but if his sore limbs and aching muscles were any indication, it had been a rather long time.

Merlin had only just got to his knees when the door burst open, startling him with how close it came to grazing his nose. Percival stood in the threshold, looking ruffled and a smidgen worse for wear than he had when Merlin saw him in...  _whatever_ that was.

"Merlin," Percival addressed, not even allowing Merlin to get fully to his feet before continuing. "I've come to plead for your assistance. Camelot is under attack. At this moment thousands of Saxons march— "

"Percival!" Merlin said loudly, effectively cutting the man off. Merlin took the moment's pause to stand up all the way. He sighed out, "I know."

He ignored the confused look Percival sent him, instead wiping the dust from his trousers and contemplating his small dwelling. It had been his home for so many years now, and it would be hard moving on from it. But he would, if only because Arthur had asked him to—if not in so many words.

This wasn't his place. Perhaps it never should have been. But looking around now, he didn't regret his years living here. It was what he'd needed at the time.

Merlin's eyes landed on a collection of branches piled up neatly beside the hearth. He let a grin light up his face at the curiously brilliant sight.

"I'm coming," he promised.

_fin_


End file.
